


Migration of Heart

by isolated_killer



Series: Migrations [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolated_killer/pseuds/isolated_killer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korean transfer student, dubbed as Chen, is not used to receiving attention from mind-hazing Chinese boys, and it's all mind-numbing and nerve-wracking, but, mostly, really fucking scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Migration of Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mirokkuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/gifts).



> [Yixing/Chen](https://24.media.tumblr.com/b81e9883a37d21123c1c6f196de90cb3/tumblr_n2861mTaGz1s4rjqco1_250.gif)

Booming steps echo inside the deserted corridor, filling the deafeningly quiet space with noise. His follower never drops the speed of his walk, yet somehow manages to keep the careful appropriate distance. It annoys him, and Chen grits his teeth, curling his fists, the boy's indignant huff quiet yet obvious to the person behind him.

The clear show of annoyance does nothing to halt the other boy, who continues to follow him to the very end of the corridor.

Chen enters the school radio station, a small room crammed with old, shabby but still well working electronic equipment, the room where the sheer number of multicolored sound switches and buttons varying in size never fails to steal an unprepared person's breath away.

Chen has only started to get used to the room's palette of colors and sounds, being the only "willing" person to volunteer as the school's new radio host; more like, the transfer student forced to practice his horrid pronunciation in a humiliating way. He drops his bag on the creaking whirling chair and starts gathering the forgotten papers with scripts from the table, crumpled, as he forcefully shoves them back into his bag.

His follower opens the door in time to barely dodge the pencil sent flying at his face. The boy bites his lip, as he determinately steps into the room, acting like the childish attack never happened.

"So, back to our conversation, did you and Sonmi noona really study math in that cafe, because I repeat, I don't remember seeing any books on the table when..."

"Yixing, please."

"But, no, I do have this version of the situation where I went selectively blind for a few minutes and stopped seeing the notes that you two could have actually been studying, but..."

"Yixing, shut up."

"... it seems pretty unrealistic to me, unfortunately so."

“I told you that we were just having some coffee. Stop being dramatic.”

Suddenly, even the loud sound of the always slow tickling clock on the wall seems to fall out of the suffocating bubble the two boys are caught in. The atmosphere is so heavy, Chen wishes he could cut it with knife. His body is so tense, made no longer of bones and meat but springs ready to unwind.

"Did you two have sex?"

"Shit, just shut your mouth, will you?"

Chen turns around and glares at the unmoving boy who has his hands locked in front of his chest, expression unreadable, yet sharp features lacking their usual peaceful gentleness. His bearing is so straight, it seems like he's grown taller a few centimeters, a rare sight for the boy usually seen hunched over his music sheets, dead to the world and sometimes, even Chen.

"Come on, I asked a question. Did you?"

Chen gives out a pained howl and throws the last stash of papers into his spilling bag, ruffling his curly fringe with his fingers in frustration, whining quietly when some stray hairs catch on his few silver rings.

"Jongdae."

The foreign word sounds and tastes strange in Yixing's mouth, and actually makes Chen laugh.

"Don't call me that, you'll break your tongue. Actually, don't call me anything ever, spare me the trouble of your annoying presence. Please, and thank you."

Chen does not notice Yixing bite his lips into sick paleness, the frozen boy's jaw hardened, nostrils flared, eyes burning a single spot in the floor; he is too busy gathering his bag, turned away, face hidden behind his bushy fringe, the immediate guilt corroding Chen's insides, tears like acid at the corners of his eyes. The dying inside boy, guilty and nervous, feels suffocated in the tiny room, so Chen does not pay any heed to the fallen sheets on the floor, and makes it for the door, practically running past his interrogator.

Yixing will have none of that.

The attack is quick and unavoidable, and Chen gasps in shock when Yixing grabs him by the elbow and throws him against a wall, millimeters from the door, his last escaping route. He wheezes as all the air leaves his lungs, mostly from the mild panic attack he is experiencing. Chen is not used to people treating him like this; people, or mostly, mind-hazing boys using every possible chance to prolong the touch of their bodies, be it a handshake or seemingly innocent hug. He is not used to the feeling of hotness and telltale spikes of arousal rising inside him at the proximity of the said boys, or, in fact, one particular boy. He does not know how to receive attention, knows only how to give, and it's all mind-numbing and nerve-wracking, but, mostly, really fucking scary.

"Chen, Chen, calm down, breathe with me, please. I'm sorry I scared you."

Soft hands frame his face, long wiry fingers of a pianist tangle in his hair, gentle thumbs stroking his cheeks; Yixing is gentle again and so so close, pinning him to the wall, clearly frightened that without the help of his hold, Chen will crumble and collapse. His expression is a picture of guiltiness, a mirror of Chen's face from moments ago, and for the umpteenth time surprise takes over Chen's feelings; how alike the two boys seem to be at times, certain reactions like second nature to them both.

"Give me some air to breathe, Xing, move."

Chen slowly pushes his hands against Yixing's shoulders, urging him, wrenching his face out of the other boy's hands, and watches his unyielding companion take the tiniest step away, smart attentive eyes trained on Chen's every single move, as if prepared to save him from the fall or actually pounce him if he decides to flee again.

Suddenly, Yixing seems to be towering over the boy, being not even more than a few centimeters taller than him. Yixing's eyes are at fault, Chen suddenly realizes, having caught a fleeting glimpse of them a moment later; they are burning passion and undying wonder, screaming things that the musician boy's lips keep sealed most of the time.

The young pianist bears great passion for few things in his life, things that turn him on, wind up his emotions and desire for living; he passes by the deemed unimportant stuff in favour of his passions. And Chen happens to be one of them, the newest one, thus most wanted and interesting of all. This realization makes the boy short of breath, exhilaration and fear fighting inside his head, and Chen ruffles his hair again, almost violently. He closes his eyes not to see Yixing so close, wishes he could switch his whole body off to cease feeling, hearing, breathing Yixing in, and whispers.

"This is what I'm talking about, Xing. Your presence is so suffocating, you're everywhere, you're wrapped around me, I need space." Chen's breathing fastens, his heart beating out a steady fast-tempo drumbeat inside his chest. He hopes Yixing cannot hear it, but at the same time, wishes, the boy can. He's torn. "I told you already that I liked you back, and you know that it was so fucking hard to do. What else do you need, jesus, give me time. I've never had boys confess to me before. I myself have never confessed to boys before. Call me dramatic, but it's kind of a life-changing experience."

"How is that any different from confessing to a girl. We're all human, we can and should love whoever we want. Please, it's all natural when you just let it go and feel."

Yixing's whisper drops hot air against Chen's cheek, and the boy's once again made aware of the impossible proximity between the two of them. Chen's eyes fly open at the other's response, and he turns to glare at Yixing, whose eyes appear to have not lost any vigor or passion, the set of his jaw determined, plump lower lip a victim of his excited biting.

"And so that is why my talking to the only other Korean transfer student who unfortunately happens to be a female should equal to me immediately having sex with her. If we go by your "natural feeling and loving" theory. She's not even my type, shit. My... girl type, apparently."

Yixing actually looks down at that, the boy's clear eyes veiled by the guilt and open worry; there is a second when he releases his poor inflamed lip from the abuse, ready to talk, to defend himself and his own possessive self, but Chen still notices the angry red on moist fragile skin, and a sparking tremor runs down his spine, excitement easily trickling into liquid arousal that starts pumping blood in his veins at a frightening speed.

"You've been avoiding me," Yixing starts after a heavy pause. "You say that you like me back only after I corner you at school, and, honestly, it sounds like you don't even want to like me, but still, maybe, possibly, can't help yourself. And then you avoid me," the boy's whispering voice sounds so sad, Chen's heart contracts and he doesn't think he has seen Yixing look so unsure ever before. The rushing guilt feels like a cold shower in the middle of a dreamless night, and Chen wants to interrupt Yixing, to assure the boy that he is in the wrong, but in reality, Yixing is right. Chen feels like crying again. "And then my friends tell me they see you with this Korean girl student, and, honestly, I am not a jealous person, but you can't blame me for wanting to ruin your moment with her, because I don't want you to get closer to her before I even got you to look me in the eye properly. Because you said that you like me back, not her. And I'm not blind, I can see that she is really smart and pretty. But I like you more than she ever will, please, Jongdae."

Yixing ends his quiet rant with an endearing wrong pronunciation of his real name, worried eyes lowered and fists gripping the edges of his crumpled jacket. When Chen doesn't say anything in the next couple of moments, Yixing throws one nervous glance at his face and starts attacking his lips again.

This is the second when Chen falls in "like" with Yixing all over again. This is the second when the words "gay love" still sound as scary as "responsibility", "job hunting" and "taxes", but feel no less unavoidable and welcome.

"You're so dumb," he says, whiny notes clear in his voice that is barely louder than a whisper. Chen feels so embarrassed, and no amount of self-control that he does not, in fact, have, can fight the creeping blush as he says his next words, eyes focused on Yixing's beat sneakers. "I wouldn't immediately have sex with some girl that I only happen to share nationality with if I didn't mean what I said, come on, have some faith in me," the thought of Yixing imagining Chen as a cheater makes the boy pout and frown. "If I say I like you... it's honest. But you must admit, realizing at the age of seventeen that you suddenly like boys is not easy. You can't just wake up one day and be cheerful about wanting dick, no, life doesn't work like that," Chen does feel like an ass for saying that last line, and so he awkwardly continues without giving Yixing a chance to react. "But I mean... What I meant to say... is that if it's you, I guess, I don't mind?"

Yixing's self-abused lips actually stretch into a pretty smile at Chen's sloppy Chinese confession, the dimple on his right cheek like a beacon to Chen's anxious wandering eyes; the boy has quite unexpected problems to swallow then, gaze trained on the attractive pink curve of Yixing's mouth, as his breath hitches and mouth goes uncomfortably dry.

"Honestly, I'm torn between being happy that you actually admitted to wanting my "dick", as you worded it, and worried that you're going to avoid me even more now... now, when we actually talked and you let me get so close... and I can actually hold your hand..."

Yixing, his lips still frozen in a small happy smile, makes a tiny step forward as his long fingers reach for Chen's sweaty palms fisted at his sides, but this single move is enough to make the proximity between their bodies alarmingly intimate. Chen’s blood must be reaching boiling temperatures, his face hot, breathing fastened, as he notices the way the other boy gently brushes his knuckles over Chen's sleeve first, notices how Yixing's nose is millimeters away from poking his prominent cheekbone, feels the other's humid breath on his chin.

Yixing has always favoured touching, always strived on their skinship, having been the inducer of the earliest electrifying shocks that ran through Chen's body that first time Yixing caged him in a warm falsely friendly hug in the middle of a football field. And just like then, the arousing tremble in his knees feels familiar, if not dangerously welcome. He stays unresponsive, his high-strung body plastered against the wall, absent eyes still trained on the corner of Yixing's curling lips, expecting the next move from the other boy with the complete lack of sense of space; Yixing is standing so close, the air between the two boys saturated with a faint smell of sweat, but Chen is positively underwater, because he cannot breathe he feels so wound up. His throat gives way to a throaty whine when Yixing's fingers finally trap his limp wrist, the tips gliding down his burning skin just to let fingers tangle with Chen's ringed ones.

"...maybe, even kiss..." is the last thing his ears register, as Yixing, his eyes closed in anticipation, releases his plump lip from the assault of nervous biting just to press the first careful kiss against his cheekbone. Chen's hand flies up to grab Yixing by his neck to eagerly pull the other in, now guided only by boyishly raw want to feel and touch, all hesitation forgotten in favour of the secretly anticipated moment. Chen raises his head and kisses Yixing on the mouth, bow-shaped lips trapping the bloody redness of Yixing's lower lip; the mischievous tails curl up as Yixing's breath hitches when Chen's warm fingers splay out on his collarbone bared by always open top buttons of his crumpled uniform shirt. Seconds turn into minutes of mouths united in a series of soft but eager nips, but they stop when the air seems too thick to swallow, panting. Chen drops his head, his eyes still closed, lips tingling in the most pleasant of ways, feeling Yixing's chin knock into his cheek as the boy's wild breathing ruffles short hairs on his whiskers.

"I like you, Jongdae," Yixing whispers very quietly, as if he is telling him the biggest secret he has ever concealed, and the endearingly wrong pronunciation of his name makes Chen's heart clench in a familiar way. Yet one need always stay true to oneself, and so Chen forcefully butts his head up a moment later, hitting Yixing square on the chin, and the boy whines in pain and disapproval; he still manages to hug Chen even closer to himself, seemingly starting to get used to his boyfriend’s unexpected random sparks of rebel behaviour.

"I know, Xing. Thank you."

This makes Yixing whine again, but there is poorly hidden laughter in his voice when he searches Chen's mischievous eyes and lets his kitten-mouth teased lips stretch into a knowing smile when Chen's still very red face starts positively glowing of naughtiness. "That's not what you're supposed to tell me back, is it?"

"No. Thank you… _very much_."

“We definitely need to work on your Chinese pronunciation of _I adore you, Yixing_ , definitely, ” Yixing gives a couple of hearty chortles at his own joke, squeezing the air out of Chen as he purposefully presses the boy closer to his chest, and the sounds of Chen’s high-pitched embarrassed grumbling deafen the compulsory sound of the lunch-break ending school bell.

**Author's Note:**

> You may also indulge in some of my fic at my [lj](http://chenis.livejournal.com/).


End file.
